


The Fallen

by CatWinchester



Category: Crimson Peak (2015), Tom Hiddleston - Fandom
Genre: F/M, Guardian Angels, Redemption, Sacrifice, Starting Over
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-18
Updated: 2015-10-26
Packaged: 2018-04-27 00:32:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 16,096
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5026762
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CatWinchester/pseuds/CatWinchester
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Summary inside as it contains a rather large spoiler for Crimson Peak.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Cold, detached and emotionless, they watch over humanity, guiding us without interfering. She is different though, she knows what it is to love. 
> 
> When Sir Thomas Sharpe dies, she can no longer remain detached and is compelled to act but in order to save him, she must sacrifice herself.

**Part One**

Finally, after thirty years of watching over him, he could see me, but only because he was dead. What a cruel twist of fate that was.

I could feel him asking, ‘ _who are you_?’

‘ _A friend_ ,’ I replied.

I could see him looking at my wings.

‘ _Why are you here_?’

I looked to his body on the floor, not yet ready to answer more question.

My tears spilled over as my heart broke.

I should not feel this way. I am supposed to be dispassionate. When I was young, I was hot headed and impulsive, but never emotional.

Thomas wandered away from me and I knelt beside his body. His spirit left, probably frightened of me, as so many were.

“Oh my boy,” I whispered, although no one in the mortal realm could hear me. “My precious boy.” I reached out to cup his cheek, my thumb grazing over the wound that had killed him. Such an inelegant death for an elegant man.

I had watched him since birth, had seen him first crushed under the force of his mother’s personality then as he grew, his older sister’s personality.

I watched as both women fought for control of Thomas, and I watched as that fight turned deadly.

Poor Thomas never recovered from that day and he blamed himself for everything that had happened since.

I blamed myself for not intervening and stopping it. Stopping her.

“I’m so sorry,” I said, my tears falling freely.

For thousands of years I have watched humanity. Some call me an Angel, Archangel or Guardian Angel, sometimes they call me Seraphim, Cherubim or Throne, and still more call me fate, destiny or karma.

I am all of these things and yet, none of them.

As you understand it though, I suppose the thing I can best be likened to is a Guardian and yet while I am one of the most powerful creatures in the universe, I am virtually powerless.

There are rules, you see, limits on how we can behave. Because the universe is intent on all creatures having free will, I cannot interfere with human decisions.

It’s a fine line we walk every single day, guiding without meddling. We can raise a forgotten letter to the top of a pile, a gentle nudge to our charges attention, if you will, but we cannot make it obvious that a letter needs attention.

We can implant a stray thought or idea in someone’s head, but we cannot make them act on it.

We can close doors on the hot blooded to impede their progress, and hopefully make them think twice about any rash actions. We cannot however, lock that door and prevent them from acting.

Which is why I had no choice but to watch as Lucille seduced her younger brother. It’s why I had to watch while Mrs Sharpe blamed Thomas and called him evil, sinful, depraved and perverted, to name just a few of the curses she hurled at him that day. It’s why I had to watch as Thomas believed her and believed that his abuse was his own fault. It’s why I could do nothing but watch as Lucille stuck an axe in Mrs Sharpe’s head.

It’s why Thomas could never escape his sister after that; because I had been weak, because I had obeyed the rules, because I hadn’t stopped either woman. Thomas felt responsible for what Lucille did that day, and for her then being committed to an insane asylum. That guilt had tied him to her for the remainder of his life.

Which was now cut woefully short.

Everyone I watch over has one thing in common, the potential to do great good, or great evil. Our job is to try and guide them towards the light, no matter what horrors pull them towards the darkness. Given the limitations imposed on us, it’s often hard to know if we’re doing any good or not. Our effect on their lives is so minuscule that I suspect our intervention makes no difference whatsoever.

Although I remained with Thomas’s rapidly cooling body, I could see the confrontation outside; I can see all if I want to.

And how cruel it is to give someone the power to see everything, yet deny them the ability to intervene in any meaningful way.

I had tried to help Thomas. So often I had left newspapers open at articles on boarding schools, hoping Mr or Mrs Sharpe might send their boy away for his education, but they ignored my hints. I even went so far as to have a letter sent from a school, inviting Thomas to join then next term, then I ensured that Mr Sharpe won big at the gambling tables, so the expense would not harm the family’s finances.

Instead he ignored the letter and gambled away his winnings. I wished I could have told him that if he sent Thomas away to school, I would have made sure his winning streak lasted a lifetime, but to do so would be akin to committing suicide and if anyone ever found out (and they always found out) I would not have been able to keep my side of that bargain.

I don’t know how old I am, time means little to me. I’m older than mankind, but not as old as the dinosaurs. I know that doesn’t really narrow things down very much.

Until now, I have never been in love. I never even believed myself capable of it.

“Thomas,” I whispered through my tears. I couldn’t say what I really wanted to because like me, the others of my kind can see everything too, and they can see me. Crying was bad enough but if they thought I intended to interfere, they would stop me.

The good thing about our rules is that if I succeed, the others then have no choice but to accept what I have done.

The stasis enchantment was easy though, and even someone standing right next to me wouldn’t notice that I had done it. It ensured that his body wouldn’t break down and begin to decay, as human flesh is wont to do.

I wiped my eyes dry and stood up, not wanting to draw any more undue attention to myself. .

I ran through the wall as though it didn’t exist and flapped my wings to take flight. I circled the house from above for a few hours, watching as the authorities came and went. Lucille and Thomas both watched as their bodies were loaded into a wagon.

Lucille was feeling vengeful but right now her anger was directed at Edith. Once she left though, it would be directed a Thomas and he would pay the price for doing the right thing.

Both of their spirits would be trapped here, hating one another, eternally at war, and that had been my deciding factor. Thomas had spent his life in Lucille’s thrall, I couldn’t let him spend his afterlife that way too.

If I could have sent him to the afterlife, I would have done, but his spirit wasn’t ready to pass over. How could he give up on life when he hadn’t yet been the master of his own destiny?

Such souls were usually doomed to wander for all eternity but that was a cruelty too far for Thomas, in my opinion.

I knew I was being watched because people already thought that my attachment to Thomas was unusual, so as the wagon with Thomas’s body pulled away, I flew off to watch over one of my other charges.

Besides, I didn’t need to be here in order to see what was happening here.

***

For obvious reasons, Thomas wasn’t being embalmed, he was to have a pauper’s funeral in all but name and honestly, I couldn’t blame Edith for not giving him a lavish funeral. At best her feelings for Thomas were conflicted.

Somehow though, I had known, or rather hoped that this day would come, and I was somewhat prepared.

I returned to Cumbria for the funeral a few days later, basic as it was, then wiping away tears, I left once more, ostensibly returning to my life.

I had what might be likened to friends among my kind, but without the care and affection aspect that such human relationships have.

“Are you all right?” one of them appeared beside me as I watched another of my charges.

“I’m well, thank you.”

“I know the charge you lost was a favourite.”

I didn’t reply.

“He died doing the right thing, he found the strength to break with his sister and her hold over him.” Did she think she was cheering me up?

“I know, but it cost him his life.”

“Human lives are fleeting,” my friend scoffed. I would tell you her name, but it doesn’t translate into any of your languages. “You don’t see the humans crying over fruit flies.”

I still didn’t reply. Yes, human lives were fleeting compared to ours, but at least they lived. They laughed and cried, they loved and hated, they made young and passed their knowledge on to them. Human society grew and evolved, becoming better and more civilised with each passing generation. Sometimes they regressed for a generation but overall, things improved. Humanities ability to grow and change was something we didn’t have.

The entire time I had been alive, I had experienced none of those things. Could that really count as living?

I don’t think so. We don’t live, we only exist, and existing isn’t enough for me any more.

“If human lives are nothing, why are we charged with guiding them?” I wanted to know.

“Because someone has to. They’re children, really, they need our guidance.”

“Because our people have so much wisdom to impart.”

She gave me a displeased look. “Sarcasm doesn’t become you. You’re spending too much time with the humans. It’s probably a good thing this Sharpe is dead, you were overly attached to him.”

“I empathised with him, there’s a difference.”

“Empathy is an unnecessary distraction because emotions are weakness.”

“I know.” I didn’t know at all. In fact I had never felt so alive as I had since I developed feelings for Thomas, but humans had also taught me the art of deceit. “I’ll forget all about him soon enough.”

“You will.” She nodded firmly. “But you shouldn’t have come here today.”

“I thought that saying goodbye might help.”

She huffed and flew off.

I stayed until the end of his funeral, then left to check on my other charges.

I behaved as I normally would for the next two days to allay suspicion, then I returned to the cemetery. It was dark, late evening, the perfect time for grave robbing.

It took only seconds to levitate the thin wooden coffin out of the earth and thanks to it being so poorly made, even less to break it open. Grave robbing wasn’t uncommon in these times, and with such a ghoulish story, no one would think this was anything other than humans stealing a notorious corpse.

I touched my hand to his forehead and breathed new life back into his body, essentially giving him some of my life force. I wouldn’t miss a few decades, I wouldn’t need them where I was going.

Having ones soul sucked back into their body is fairly traumatic and Thomas opened his eyes with a gasp, one hand covering mine on his forehead, the other going to the wound that had killed him, now miraculously healed.

“Who’s there? I can feel you.”

“You met me in Lucille’s bedroom,” I told him gently, “just after you died. “Look closely at me, Thomas; because you died, you will be able to see me if you really try to.”

Taking hold of my wrist, he pulled it in front of his face and stared at his hands where they held mine. Slowly, his gaze moved, following the path of my arm, over my shoulder to my face, then to my wings.

“You’re an angel.”

“Something like that but we haven’t much time, so you must listen closely. I’m giving you a second chance at life, Thomas, a chance to be free of everything that held you back before, that house, your family, all of it.”

“I understand.”

“In return, I need something from you.”

“Name it.”

“When we meet again, I need you to take care of me. I won’t know who I am or who you are, and I won’t be an angel any longer.”

“You’ll be cast out because of me?” He looked aghast.

“No, I’ll be cast out for interfering. We must get going,” I urged. “I’ve used my gifts to hide us from the others, but it won’t be long until they find me. Come on.”

I helped him to his feet and picked him up in my arms, flying off, up into the night sky.

“Where are we going?”

“Ireland. From there you’ll catch a boat to New York, then you will catch a train to California. I have purchased land for you in a place called South Belridge, land that will yield valuable oil. Your steam powered clay mining invention could easily be altered slightly to streamline the collection of this oil, thus restoring you to wealth and giving you the freedom to invent what you wish.”

“I don’t understand!” he cried. “What are you?”

“Our name doesn’t directly translate but the closest term would be your word, ‘vigilant’. We are the vigilant.”

“Why are you doing this?”

I looked into his eyes. “Because you deserve a second chance, Thomas. I have watched over you since you were a small boy, and you are not to blame for what had happened in your life. You are a good man at heart, and you gave your life to save the woman you love.”

“I deserved to die, I deserve to suffer.”

If I wasn’t carrying him, I would have touched his cheek.

“Oh my dear boy, you were shamed for things other people did to you, things they should have been blamed for. Your guilt kept you loyal to those you know didn’t deserve it, and your loyalty allowed you to be manipulated. But that is not the man you were born to be. You your only fault is weakness, and you overcame that when you broke with your sister to save Edith. Now you have a chance to become the man you were destined to be.”

I began to descend onto Irish soil.

“Please, help me understand.”

“I cannot,” I said, tears shining in my eyes. I conjured a satchel and handed it to him. “Take this, it has your new identity, money, tickets to the new world and a letter, explaining everything you need to know about where you are going. My information is in there also, and proof that we are together. Please keep it safe for by the time you get to California, I will have been there for weeks, suffering from amnesia, lost and alone, probably hospitalised or in an insane asylum. You must find me and claim me as your wife. We do not have to live as man and wife if you do not wish but please, promise me, Thomas? Don’t leave me there to rot.”

“I won’t,” he assured me. “But can't you come with me now?”

“It’s better if I don’t. If my sisters became vengeful, they too might break our laws and harm us both.”

“What happens if they break a law?”

“They will be dropped to earth?”

“But you can fly.”

“Dropped to humanity,” I clarified. “My kind consider themselves above you, so to become one of you is to fall, or if forced, to be dropped. I should much rather fall on my own terms, landing where I want.”

“Then come now, come with me.”

I touched down on Irish soil and set Thomas back on his feet.

“And what if they hurt you? Take you away from me?” I asked. I would rather die in his place than watch him die again.

“They cannot interfere with humans, you said.”

“They can, just as I have, but they’re just not supposed to.” I began walking. “Come, I will find you a place to sleep for the night, and you can examine the contents of he satchel in private.”

He followed me

“But if they hate humans, why would they risk becoming one just to hurt you?”

That was a good point actually. My kind were cold and emotionless, logical to the nth degree. They would not risk being cast out just to have revenge on me, they didn’t care about me enough to wish vengeance on me.

I had wanted to draw them away from Thomas, but maybe that wasn’t necessary. My shielding charm would not stop the others finding me for long, so I had to choose quickly.

“Don’t make me go alone,” Thomas pleaded. “You’re the only person who has ever believed in me.”

Oh my, how did he manage to say such tempting things!

“Head towards the Sheeps Heid Inn for the night, give your name as Thomas Valancourt. Sorry, I had to drop the title.”

“And you?”

We were attracting some odd looks since to everyone around us who was unable to see me, Thomas was talking to nothing.

“I will fall into your path on the way. Remember, I won’t know you and you will have to convince me that I can trust you.”

“I understand,” he nodded.

I considered it for one final moment before I made up my mind.

“Take the next left, then the second right and the Inn is on a corner,” I said hurriedly. “You have no luggage; just tell them you were robbed on your journey from England and everything but your satchel was stolen; that would also explain your dated clothes, they were all you could get on short notice. The ship leaves tomorrow morning, at 10 o’clock. You’ll need to book tickets first thing and I suggest you travel second class, merchant class, those will be your people now, and they will surely lend you outfits to wear. Everyone brings far too many clothes for trips to the Americas. There is money in the satchel, more than enough to get you to California.”

He looked confused so I stopped explaining. I had written everything down in the letter I gave him, so there was no need to rush things. Still, soon I would be unable to help him, so I felt pressured to tell him everything.

“The others will be here any minute,” I said. “I must fall soon or I will have no say over where I land.”

Thomas slipped he strap of the satchel over his head.

"Then fall, my Vigilant Angel, I will catch you."

I flapped my wings and flew to the closest building, landing on the edge of the roof.

Ports are open 24 hours since ships can't time when they will land very well, so there were a few people about but only Thomas was looking up at me. Because the others couldn't see me, and they wouldn't until I fell.

This was is, the end of my life as I knew it, if only I was brave enough to let myself fall.

 

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Part Two**

**Thomas**

I looked up at this creature and wondered what this was all about. She had answered my questions but everything she had old me was simply too insane for a rational man to believe.

And yet I did believe her.

One look at her showed me that she was not of this earth, her skin glowed with some kind of otherworldly light. She met my gaze and I found myself frozen in place. I wanted to believe that I had a second chance, free of all my previous burdens, I wanted her to come with me on this madcap scheme of hers, but it all just seemed too good to be true.        

I also couldn’t quite believe that jumping off a building wouldn’t kill her.

With a silvery shimmer, her white flowing garment transformed into something darker and more akin to modern fashion then, as though in slow motion, she began to tip forward.

My pulse stuttered but I expected her wings to open and stop her fall but instead, she began to rotate, end over end and my heart stopped for a moment.

She landed with a sickening thud and the moment she struck the pavement, her wings evaporated, like smoke blowing away on a breeze.

I ran to her and knelt down beside her.

“Are you alright?” I asked.

She blinked a few times but didn’t answer. She seemed unharmed.

“You alright, Miss?” a navvy joined us, kneeling on her other side, and a few other dock workers gathered nearby to watch. “What ‘appened?”

“She just tripped,” I answered, hoping they hadn’t seen her fall from the building.

She still just blinked, looking from the navvy to me, her eyes blank and showing no signs of recognition.

“You speak English?” she asked.

I remembered what she had said about not knowing me and how I had to make her believe that she did.

“Yes, we’re in Ireland, remember? We’re sailing to America tomorrow.”

“Who are you?” she asked as I helped her to sit up.

“Your husband, remember…” How could I convince her we were married if I didn’t even know her name? “Angel?”

“I­”

“You must have hit your head harder than I thought, darling. Let’s get you to the inn and you can rest a while.”

I leaned forward to pick her up but the man opposite me held his hand up.

“Now ‘ang on fella, I saw you a few streets back, alone and talking to yourself. ‘Ow do I know this woman is anythin’ to do wiv you?”

On the one hand it was good that he cared about a woman he had never met but on the other hand, it made things more difficult.

“We were robbed earlier,” I explained, “I was talking to myself because I was angry and worried about my wife, whom I had told to run. I should have something in here that will prove who I am, it’s the only thing they left me with.” I took the satchel off and opened it, praying that she had told me the truth.

First I found some sketches of the two of us, with ‘Emily and Thomas’ written on the back of one, which I showed to the man, then I found a marriage licence showing that Emily St. Aubert married Thomas Valancourt four years ago.

“Right you are, Sir,” he handed me my papers back. “My apologies for keepin’ you.”

“Not at all, my good man, I’m glad you look out for ladies in distress. I wish there were more like you about.” I put the papers back, closed the satchel and threw the strap over my head once more, then I picked Emily… no, that name didn’t suit her. I picked Angel up in a bridal carry. “You couldn’t direct me to the Sheep's Heid, could you?”

“I’ll take you there me self, Sir.”

My attention was caught by at least a dozen other angels (or vigilants, as Angel had called them) standing on the rooftops and glaring down at us. They looked angry and for a moment, I was petrified by my fear.

Were they going to harm us? I didn’t so much care for myself, I surely deserved anything they had in store for me, but Angel didn’t deserve to be punished.

I found the courage to take a step, then another. The angels kept pace with us as we made our way to the inn, forming an odd sort of procession as they took off in a sort of relay, each flying the distance of a few buildings before landing again, but they made no move to harm us. No one else seemed to notice them, only me. I didn’t know if Angel could see them or not, she was curled into me right now, her head buried in my neck.

The navvy was known to the innkeeper, and he smoothed things over.

I told so many lies I could hardly keep count. We were in Ireland visiting relatives before emigrating to America, because we didn’t know when we would get a chance to see them again. On the journey back from Cork, our carriage was stopped by highwaymen and I told ‘Emily’ to run, to meet me at the Inn my uncle had told us about. The thieves then took the carriage and all our possessions, bar one satchel that I managed to grab and hide. Our driver was so hurt that I left him in a village to be cared for and ventured on to look for my wife.

They called a doctor out for her, and I couldn’t refuse without something seeming amiss.

Angel seemed anguished but relatively calm as he examined her, and the doctor told me the amnesia was probably as a result of shock and a slight bump to her head. She would likely regain her memory in time.

He left me with a sleeping draught for her and I paid his bill with the money in the satchel.

Finally we were alone, I was sitting by the desk in our room, Angel was sitting upright in the bed, staring warily at me.

“You lie frequently,” she told me. “Why?”

“Because no one would believe me if I told the truth.”

“Are we really married?”

I hesitated for a second but evidently she could tell when I told a falsehood.

“No. Appearing married was your suggestion though.”

“Are we running away together?”

“Something like that,” I agreed. “We’re both making a new start.”

“Why?”

Why indeed, I wasn’t even sure I knew myself.

“I’m running from my past, wanting a new start. You…” There had been enough secrets in my life and things weren’t going to change unless I changed them. “I think you’re an angel who fell to earth.”

She took a moment to digest my words. “An angel?”

I shrugged, not knowing what else to say. “You gave me this,” I brandished the small leather bag. “You said the contents would explain everything.”

She eyed the bag cautiously but when I held it towards her, she took it from me and placed it on the bed in front of her. She opened the buckle and pulled all the contents out, then began spreading them over the bed.

I stepped closed so I could see, sitting on the opposite side and at the end of the bed, close enough to see the papers but not crowd her.

“May I?” I asked as she laid things out.

“Of course.” She seemed confused by my request.

I picked up a pile of documents. Birth certificates for us both; I was a year younger than my actual age, Angel (or Emily) was 24, according to the document. There were also deeds to the land she had purchased in my new name, and our wedding certificate. I had a feeling that Thomas and Emily Valancourt were real people.

I put those back and picked up the pile of sketches.

“I think this is for you.” She handed me a letter which I accepted, addressed to Thomas.

I opened it and as I unfolded the letter, a white downy feather fell onto the mattress. I picked it up, wondering if it had one of been hers.

***

_Dearest Thomas,_

_You are probably quite confused by recent events, and I am sorry if this has been traumatic for you. First of all, let me explain who I am. My name doesn’t translate, nor does my species, but I come from a powerful race of creatures, and it is our job to watch over humanity, especially those whose lives might lead them to evil. My task is to try to keep them in the light._

_I tried my hardest with you, Thomas, but you were doomed from birth, I believe. The odds were never stacked in your favour. I know that you believe you are to blame for Lucille’s actions, but you are not. She very carefully groomed you to become her lover, taking advantage of your immaturity to lead you down a path of sin._

_In her defence, she learned how to manipulate you from your father. Had she been my charge, perhaps I might have helped your family more, but she was assigned to another, and then written off by her guardian once she killed your mother._

_I never left you though, Thomas, because your goodness refuse to die._

_You witnessed things that no child should have to see, beaten by your parents, nearly dying on two occasions, used and manipulated by people with stronger personalities, but while your guilt kept you tethered to your sister, you never gave in to the darkness, never let it consume you._

_I hoped that one day you would find the courage to break away from her, but she knew exactly how to control you to her best advantage._

_However, although you do not personally have blood on your hands, you turned a blind eye to monstrous acts._

_You did not know Lucille’s plans for your first wife and I know you hoped to be able to separate yourself from Lucille, using your need for money as an excuse to marry. You suspected Lucille had a hand in her death but you had no proof._

_You can claim no such innocence with your next two wives though. You may not have killed them, but you did nothing to save them either._

_Still I hoped that the innocent young boy I knew would re­emerge, that his wonder and fascination with life could be rekindled, and that his innocence could be renewed, if not restored. You can never be that innocent child again, but you are not wholly to blame for your actions, or rather more accurately, your inactions._

_Finally though, love gave you the strength to stand up to Lucille, to stand up for what you believe in, what you want. That your redemption led to your death was bad enough but given the circumstances, I knew you would be forced to spend eternity locked in a house that you hate, with the woman who so very badly twisted your mind._

_I could not allow that to happen._

_My kind aren’t supposed to have feelings, but I have them for you. I do not know how or why, I cannot pinpoint the moment it happened, but I love you, Thomas Sharpe. More than that, I believe in you._

_My belief, that deep down you are a good man, is so strong that I sacrificed my immortality to give you a second chance._

_My kind do not fall to earth very often. Not even one of us every few hundred years, but we do fall on occasion, usually for love._

_But do not let my love become a burden to you, I did not do this so that you would feel beholden to me. I did this because it was the right thing to do for both of us. Angels live long but safe lives. We do not live, we exist, every day like the previous, an emotionless vacuum that pales in comparison to the richness and complexity of humanity. I wanted this, you simply gave me the impetus I needed to fall._

_I am not foolish enough to believe that you love me too; you cannot, for you do not know me. The truth is that by the time you read this, I may no longer love you, for in giving up my immortality, my memories will be taken from me also._

_I ask only that you take care of me until I have adapted to my new mortal life._

_Should you decide that you do not love me, then send me on my way. If however, you do develop feelings for me, place the feather in my hand. It will not restore me to what I once was, but it will give me back a part of myself, some of my memories and hopefully, my feelings._

_It would be too cruel to allow me to remember you if you cannot return my affection though so I beg you, do not give me the feather unless you are certain you can return the sentiments I have expressed here. If you allow me to live my life in ignorance to what I have lost, I shall consider it a great kindness._

_Now remove these pages and show me the lower two, which are identical in content, except for my feelings for you._

_Even if I never know your love, know that mine is not selfish and no matter what happens, please believe that I wish you nothing but happiness._

_And should you ever doubt your own goodness, remember that an Angel gave up everything she is, everything she was, and everything she might have been, because she believed in you with her whole heart._

_Believe in yourself, Thomas. I do._

***

I sat there, awed by everything I had just read. It couldn’t be true, it simply couldn’t. Yet it was.

I did as she asked, folding the top two sheets and slipping them into my pocket as discreetly as I could then taking the feather, I stared at it, trying to decide what to do with it.

My gut reaction was to just forget about love altogether and throw the feather away. In my experience, love is malignant and ugly, bringing only pain and anguish. I was better off without it, but Angel’s letter gave me pause.

She had given up eternity just so that she might have emotions. Good or bad, it seemed that feelings were better than the gaping void of emotionlessness, and my instincts told me not to act in haste, so I slipped the feather into the same pocket as her letter.

I offered Angel the sanitised version of the letter to read and looked through the rest of the satchel contents. There was plenty of money, both English and American currency, and a bank book, showing that I already had an account with an American bank.

Had she been planning this for quite some time, or were things like this easy for her? She had taken me from Cumbria to Ireland in under 15 minutes, so venturing across the Atlantic might be child’s play for such a being. And as for the money, the bible said that Jesus could turn water into wine, so perhaps an Angel could turn copper into gold.

There was no way to know, unless gave her the feather and allowed her to remember who she used to be. My curiosity, while great, was not enough to risk being loved again.

Having a wife would be good though, someone to share life’s tasks with, to help stave off loneliness, and two heads were better than one. Contrary to popular belief, sex did not have to be an integral a part of marriage, and nor did love, as I had found.

“Are you alright?” I asked her as she finished reading the letter.

“It sounds too fantastical to be true,” she admitted. “And yet I believe it, I _was_ an Angel.”

“Do you remember anything?”

A frown line marred her brow as she concentrated. “No,” she finally admitted. “It’s as though I was born earlier this evening. And for all intents and purposes, I’m married to a stranger, although it must feel the same for you.”

A stab of guilt pained me as I realised that no, it wasn’t the same for me, because I was used to being married to strangers.

“And your feelings towards me?” I had to know if she remembered anything at all.

She gave me a long, hard look, as though she were trying to look into my soul, which must surely be as black as coal.

“I feel sorry for you,” she finally admitted. “The letter tells me that you were not a good man, but I think that was not your fault.”

I looked away, wishing I hadn’t asked.

She surprised me by leaning over and taking my hand, making me look at her again. As she stared into my eyes, I couldn’t help but notice how soft her hands were. Would all of her feel as soft?

I quashed that thought before it could get me in trouble and broke eye contact with her as I pulled my hand away.

I felt ashamed under her scrutiny, ashamed and unworthy, if I’m honest.

“I trust you,” she finally said. “I can't say why, I have no reason, but I believe you will not harm me.”

“I won’t,” I assured her. I couldn’t. Even I, depraved soul that I am, would not soil an angel with my sins.

“Then I think we will get on very well together.” I could feel her smile, even though I wasn’t looking at her. “I am afraid that I might irritate you for a while though.”

“Why?” I asked, daring to look at her as she got off the bed.

“There seems to be much that I don’t understand, and I fear I shall plague you with questions for a time.”

“I shall endeavour to answer them.”

“Alright,” she stood at the foot of the bed and looked towards the headboard. “How does one sleep?”

“Sleep?”

“Yes. What do I need to do?”

“You’ve never slept before?”

“I don’t know. It doesn’t feel like it.”

“Oh, um, well, sleep is instinctive, really. A lethargy will come over you and when it does, if you allow yourself to, you will sleep.”

She nodded but still appeared confused. “And how will I know when to eat?”

“You’ve never eaten before?”

“I don’t know.” Her eyes brimmed with tears, probably a mixture of frustration and anxiety.

I felt compelled to go to her and I took her in my arms, stroking her hair as I soothed her.

“It’s all right, Angel, being human only seems daunting because you are new to it. Within a week I guarantee that you will have mastered every aspect of the business of living.”

“I hope so,” she sniffed.

“But now we should try to sleep. We have an early start in the morning.”

“But I don’t feel lethargic.”

“Perhaps not,” I couldn’t help but smile at her lack of guile. “But we should try.”

“How?”

“We’ll get undressed, climb into bed and try to relax.”

“All right,” she pulled away and wiped the tears from under her eyes. “I will try.”

***

Angel slept soundly beside me, the sleep of the innocent, something I hadn’t been for a very long time now.

With a heavy sigh, I swung my legs out of bed, dressed as quickly and quietly as I could, and slipped out of the room. As I left the inn I pulled the collar of my coat up to help ward off a chill and kept my head bowed against the cold. When I noticed something in my path, I looked up to see an angel stood before me, its expression positively demonic as it glared at me, a far cry from my Angel.

I stilled but didn’t know how to react, especially given the anger radiating off the creature.

“Who are you to rob her of her immortality?” it demanded.

“I’ve taken nothing from her.”

The creature hissed at me, making me recoil in fear.

“You think excuses matter to us? We hold your life in the palm of our hands, we can step on you like an ant, or make your life one of eternal torment.”

I knew its words were true, but I also knew that it risked becoming human if it did as it threatened. Still, it wouldn’t be wise to aggravate the thing.

“I have no intention of harming your friend. I can already see that she is… very special.”

“You think your pretty words will work on me!? I am older than you can imagine, I have heard every lie that there is to tell, and I will not allow you to walk away from her! You are all she has in this mortal world!”

I actually agreed with her.

“If you know anything about me, you would know that I am both no fool, and rather ruthless about taking care of myself. If I intended to walk out on your friend, I would have taken the money.”

Its face twisted into something grotesque and I knew I had won this argument. I took no pleasure in it however.

“We’re watching you,” it threatened ominously, before flying straight up into the air, seemingly defying gravity and the laws of aerodynamics.

I watched until she was out of sight, then resumed my walk, more alert than before and knowing that I had no chance of sleeping tonight.

I continued to walk in circles until the sun began to rise, then I returned to the inn.

Angel was awake when I came in and she smiled at me. I expected her to question me, perhaps make me feel guilty for worrying her, or at least question where I had been, but she did nothing but smile.

She was dressed already, and sitting by the fireplace, although the fire had long since died.

“Did you sleep well?” I asked, uncertain what else to say to her.

“I think so.”

I smiled at how hesitant she was over simple things.

“Are you hungry?”

“I actually feel slightly unwell.”

I rushed to her side and knelt down next to her chair. “Did you hurt yourself in the fall perhaps?”

“I don’t know.”

“Where does it hurt?”

“I have a slight pain in my stomach. Nothing too severe but­”

As if on cue, her stomach rumbled. I relaxed and laughed at how worried I had been, but judging from her horrified expression, that was the wrong reaction.

“I believe you are suffering hunger pangs,” I explained. “Nothing a nice breakfast won’t cure.”

She relaxed instantly, and the trust she placed in my opinion buoyed my spirit.

The innkeeper sent a boy to purchase our tickets while we had breakfast, then we journeyed to the ship, the SS Majestic.

I told the porter the same hard luck story we’d used last night, and the fact that Angel was a little out of kilter with the world around her only added credence to my tale.

I asked him about clothing, offering to purchase it obviously, a gentleman never begs, and he assured me that he would see what he could do for us.

Our room was large for a ship but like the Sharpes, the vessel had clearly seen better days and was overdue for a refit. Everything was good quality, just old and tired.

Angel looked around at everything with wonder, running her fingers over the surfaces and textiles. Along with not eating or sleeping, I wondered if Angels had no sense of touch. It stood to reason that since they weren’t visible to those in our reality, perhaps they couldn’t touch anything in our reality.

The porter returned before dinner with two outfits for the both of us, daywear and evening wear. Mine came from the staff, who had to wear suits in the daytime and black tie while serving in the dining room each evening.

Angel’s dresses came from the laundry. As unbelievable as it is to someone in my impoverished state, some people threw perfectly good gowns away for the smallest of faults.

Nothing fit perfectly but everything would suffice for a 6 to 10 day voyage.

***

Angel was a quick learner and quickly picked up how to slot into polite society. She deflected questions about herself by asking about whoever she was with and when that didn’t work, flattering them.

As for me I was feeling conflicted, to say the least.

After dinner on the forth nigh we returned to our room but I excused myself and went for a walk about the deck, which was all but deserted at this time of night. Usually on deck I stood by the bow, looking forward to America, our future. Tonight I headed to the stern and bracing my hands on the railing, I looked back.

I missed her.

I know how incredibly illogical that must sound, after all, our love was not healthy and she had killed me. For so long I had yearned to be free, yet she had held me back, tethering me to her through guilt and keeping me from my dreams of forging a life for myself. Missing such a woman was surely a mark of gross stupidity, but miss her I did.

For over three decades she had been the only person who loved me, and perhaps that love was twisted, something impure, sinful and parasitic, but it was all I knew. A few weeks of loving and being loved by Edith could not cleanse me of a lifetime of that kind of destructive affection.

I also felt guilty. Yes, Lucille had been older than I, and she had commenced our intimate relations, but I had not stopped her and after a while, I had begun to initiate our encounters and… I had instigated the encounter on the day mother found us. If I had just been more circumspect, kept my desires under control, then Lucille wouldn’t have killed Mother, and that was the event which caused her to lose touch with reality.

Her treatment in that asylum was barbaric and she was never the same after that… and it was all my fault.

Tears slipped from my eyes as I looked back towards England, back towards Lucille.

I don’t know how long I had been there when I felt a hand on my back. Angel slipped under my arm and wrapped her arms around my waist, pressing her head into my chest.

I couldn’t hug her back, I felt as if I was holding onto the railing for dear life, but it felt good to know she was there.

My tears fell harder and I began to sob but Angel did nothing but offer silent comfort. Did she even remember why I cried? If she did, would the human in her forgive me as easily as her Angelic self had?

“I’m sorry.” I didn’t know who I was apologising to, Angel for making a show of myself, or Lucille, who couldn’t hear me anyway, I only knew that I needed to say the words.

By the time my tears slowed I was exhausted and I allowed Angel to lead me below decks. Like a child she undressed me and put me to bed, then clad in her nightgown she clambered in the other side and wrapped herself around me, her chest pressed into my back. I expected her hands to stray, to try and cheer me up sexually but when she didn’t, I turned over and kissed her.

She didn’t respond and when I pulled away, she seemed disappointed. I expected a harsh rebuke for taking advantage of her but instead she pulled my head down to her breast and began stroking my hair.

“I’m sorry. You deserve better,” I sobbed.

“Ssshh,” she soothed, continuing to run her fingers through my hair. “Sleep.”

***

The next morning, as I awoke with my head on Angel’s breast, I was mortified. I raised my head slowly, hoping she was still asleep and I could sneak out of bed, but she was smiling at me.

“My apologies,” I said, quickly breaking eye contact. “My actions last night were unacceptable.”

“I don’t think you could help it,” she replied. “I don’t think emotions like to be repressed. I know I find it hard not to show how I feel.”

“Perhaps, but it was unforgivable of me to place that burden on you.”

“You didn’t,” she said, seemingly confused. “I was worried and sought you out.”

Now I was the confused one.

“You comfort me when I am puzzled by this existence, do you not?” she continued. “Why should I not return the favour?”

“Because­” Because I was pining for a toxic relationship that had literally killed me.

“It seems to me that emotions come for a reason and good or bad, they need to be expressed or they will fester.”

I looked at her, wondering at the contradiction she presented. I had been surprised to realise had she retained more knowledge than I thought, having assumed that since she had lost her memory of who she was, she would remember nothing, but she had retained her knowledge of how things worked. In fact her knowledge of the world was quite extensive. She knew history and geography, geology and politics.

What seemed to be missing was her knowledge of herself and what it was like to be human. She was like a child in that respect, and each new experience filled her with wonder.

She was slowly learning when and when not to express every single thought that she had, learning how to be polite and hold her tongue even when curious, but never when she was around me. I was treated to the whole guileless package and sometimes, as just now, a nugget of profound wisdom would fall from her lips and for a moment, the world seemed to make perfect sense.

I could very easily fall in love with this woman and I had been tempted on more than a few occasions, to return her feather to her, so that she could remember she loved me. But love was dangerous and no matter how much I liked Angel, I wasn’t ready to give my heart away again.

I toyed many times with the idea of throwing the feather away but no matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t bring myself to do it.

***

**Angel**

I was an unusual mixture of knowledge and innocence.

I understood how the world worked and had a lot of knowledge about almost all aspects of life, except for perhaps the most important ones.

As well as not having a past, I seemed to know very little about actually being human and I was constantly surprised by small things.

An embrace for example. I had no idea that holding someone and being held, could make me feel so much contentment.

My emotions also surprised me, because they came on so swiftly and with such strength that sometimes, they left me feeling breathless. I was learning to control them when around other people because they sometimes looked at me as if I was insane, but Thomas had never been anything but kind, so I felt free to express myself around him.

He seemed like such a nice man, so generous, charming and caring, that I often found myself wondering about what haunted him, because I knew something did. Even without finding him crying on deck, I could see the pain in his eyes.

I didn’t ask him about it though, because somehow I understood that it wasn’t something he could easily confess. I tried to let him know that I would be there for him when he needed me but while the letter I read that nigh in Ireland had alluded his past in a general way, I had to accept that he may never tell me his secrets.

Where such patience came from I could only guess at, but I suppose it has something to do with who I used to be. It’s strange to think that I used to be an angel but no matter how absurd it sounds, I know it’s the truth, the same way I know how a compass works, even although I can't remember ever having used one.

I can't help wondering why I’m not an Angel any more. Thomas said I became human to give him a second chance, which also feels true, but I haven’t asked why he needed a second chance because I don’t think he’s ready to tell me.

Sometimes I think I catch a glimpse of something large and winged from the corner of my eye but each time I look, there’s nothing there. Are my friends looking out for me, or am I imagining things? I suspect I will never know.

Thomas had bouts of melancholy for the duration of our eight day trip to America but once we disembarked, he was kept too busy to dwell on the past.

We left New York almost immediately, I think because Thomas feared running into someone who knew him. We caught a train across country, stopping in Bakersfield to buy supplies, new clothes and horses, before venturing out to our land.

This whole area seemed to be in something of an oil boom, I just hoped that the land we owned would yield some. Thomas seemed very excited by the idea, not so much finding the oil itself, but the technicalities involved in finding, extracting, and refining it. We had stopped just long enough in New York for Thomas to purchase some books, which he was reading every chance he got. He had already had ideas for alterations to the standard machinery that would aid him in the various processes.

After a night in a hotel, we collected our supplies and travelled out to our land.

I was paying close attention to everything that the people around me were doing, such as setting the horses to the cart. I also thought to purchase a recipe book from the general store. Neither of us had ever cooked before but he understood more about the technicalities needed to prospect for oil than I did, so feeding us should probably be my domain.

The house on our land was a small wooden structure, little more than a cabin really but it was nice, fairly new and had three rooms, a kitchen, a bedroom and a very small bathroom.

We learned in town that the person I evidently bought this land from, had ‘gone broke’ looking for oil.

I really hoped that as an angel, I had some kind of prescient knowledge and knew for certain that there was oil here, otherwise we might well go broke too.

***

**Thomas**

The cabin was basic, nothing like I was used to at all but its roof was solid, the walls were sound, and the fireplaces were large.

As well as the house, there were stables nearby and above the stalls there was accommodation for workers.

The clothing I had purchased in town was all working clothes, the porter on the boat had arranged for us to keep the clothes he had found and that was plenty enough formal attire.

We spent the first few days taking care of the property, and luckily the stores in town had everything we needed to install plumbing and a water heater. Well, a man needed a few luxuries, and hot running water was a must.

Angel surprised me, not only was she interested in the technical things I was doing, she was eager to help.

Unfortunately, she was an awful cook so after she had helped me with the plumbing, I helped her with the cooking. It was harder than it looked but we managed to make something edible most days. We mastered bread, which isn’t easy in the wood burning stove, and we ate so many eggs that it might just be easier to buy some chickens.

Angel was good company, not much of a talker but she spoke when she had something to say. She needed even the most basic things explained to her, even simple tasks like how to light a fire, but she was a quick learner and a voracious reader, not that we had an awful lot of books.

An apt description for her would be that she knew the theory but not the practice, and if she had been watching for thousands of years, that was probably the truth.

The more time I spent with her, the more I liked her, but I wasn’t ready to be husband and wife in anything but name.

Once the house was finished, I moved onto the land, surveying it during the day to try and find the most likely placed to drill for oil, and refining my plans for a drilling rig, or derrick in the evenings. I worked hard each day and fell into bed each night, exhausted, but I felt unable to slow down.

I had been given a second chance that I didn’t deserve. I had to at least succeed, because if I didn’t, then everyone who told me I was useless, a disappointment, nothing on my own, would all be proven right.

I couldn’t allow that.


	3. Chapter 3

**Part Three**

**Seven months later, 1902**

**Angel**

Thomas hit oil today.

I was in the kitchen with Nora, washing up after having mucked out the stables, when we heard the commotion and shared a puzzled look.

Once we took on hands on to help build the derrick and operate the cable drill, it quickly became clear that my attempts at cooking would not suffice. Thus we built another room onto the house and Nora was hired. Everyone was thankful for her addition to the household.

I picked up a towel to dry my hands and we made our way outside to see Thomas coming back to the house with his men, covered in the black goo and grinning like a fool. His white teeth looked like a tear in the night sky.

Before I could forbid him, Thomas scooped me up into his arms and kissed me.

For a moment I wasn’t sure whether to be angry that he was covering my clothes in oil, or happy that we had succeeded in our task. Pretty soon though, both warring emotions were overridden by a new longing and I returned his kiss, wrapping my arms around him and pulling him even tighter against me.

I shared a home with this man, slept beside him each night, we had even huddled together under the covers during the cold winter months. I held his hand sometimes and we embraced on occasion. We poured over his inventions each evening, sometimes into the wee small hours. Even if I couldn’t help, just explaining things to me was helpful, he said, a sweet smile on his lips.

I already held a great deal of respect and affection for him, occasionally I felt something more but nothing like this. This was an emotion I had never experienced before. Was it desire? Lust perhaps?

When he pulled away, neither of us were smiling any more.

The two hands were dancing around us, as jubilant as children at Christmas and our maid, Nora, was keeping them at bay with a broom, since they were threatening to hug her as Thomas had done to me, but it felt as though Thomas and I were all alone and I swallowed, suddenly feeling very nervous, although it wasn’t an unpleasant feeling.

The moment stretched on. I didn’t know how to respond to these feelings, and Thomas was evidently not willing to continue. When Willie and Pete knocked into us while attempting to avoid Nora’s broom, the moment was lost and we separated.

“You need to clean up,” I told Thomas, but my embarrassment caused me to quickly look away from him. “You too,” I told the hands.

“I’ll take care of them,” Nora assured me. “You just look after him,” Nora pointed at Thomas, then turned back to the hands herding them over towards the stables

“You should get changed out there,” I said. “I’ll run you a hot bath and put some newspaper down.”

I darted inside, eager to be away from him so I could get myself back under control. I put old newspapers down on his path from the kitchen door while the bath ran, then called him when I was done.

I didn’t know if he would have undressed complexly, or only partially to spare my blushes, but I kept my back to him as he made his way. Once the bathroom door closed I went into our bedroom and changed out of my clothes. Mine were probably salvageable as they just had oil transfer, but I had no clue how I was going to rescue Thomas’s. Maybe now they had hit oil and we didn’t have to worry quite so much about making our money last, we could just burn them.

***

**Thomas**

It took a lot of scrubbing with lye soap and two baths to get rid of all the oil but nothing could dampen down my mood.

The land was making money and I had been able to modify the derrick so that once the cable drill hit oil, the well could be quickly capped, saving possibly thousands of barrels of oil. Now I had proof that it worked, I intended to sell the patent. 

Once we had money coming in I had plans to start my own refinery too, and lots of ideas on how to streamline that process and make separating the components quicker, cheaper, and cleaner.

Everything in our lives was going well, until I kissed her.

Why? We had a fantastic life together, we got on well, we had fun, we were even affectionate with each other, why did I have to cross that line and make our relationship physical?

‘ _Because you love her_ ’ a little voice in the back of my mind told me. I knew it to be true but I didn’t want it to be. Love was dangerous.

Besides, Angel deserved someone much better than I.

‘ _Why don’t you divorce her?_ ’ that little voice asked. ‘ _If you don’t want her, let her find someone who does_.’

Because I care too much to give her up, and I’m selfish.

And anyway, she had given up her immortality to give me a second chance, didn’t I owe it to her to give her the best life possible?

‘ _She doesn’t care for money, she became human to experience humanity. If you really wanted what was best for her, you’d give her that feather so she could remember who she was, and you’d admit your feelings for her_ _._ _’_

That little voice was damned annoying, mostly because it was usually right.

I began to wonder what might happen if I did confess my feelings and tried to make our relationship physical. And if I gave her the feather back so she could remember what she had given up, would she still think she had done the right thing?

Although they were clean, I found myself lathering up my hands once more, feeling the callouses on my fingers and palms from erecting the derrick and operating the drill. My hands were pretty scarred now, and no stranger to hard work.

I couldn’t help but wonder what Carter Cushing would make of me now.

That thought, and remembering that even although it wasn’t by my hand, I was directly responsible for his death, was sobering enough to put paid to thoughts of confessing my feelings.

***

That evening the six of us ate, drank and were merry as we shared a steak stew that Nora had made. My mood was subdued but I made an effort to go along with the celebrations. I didn’t want to face any awkward questions.

After the hands and Nora retired to bed, I took my survey plans out and laid them on the cleared kitchen table, although I already knew where I would try drilling next.

“What’s wrong?” Angel asked as she sat opposite me.

“Nothing, I just… want to stay ahead of the game.”

“You can take one night off.”

“No, I can't.”

“Thomas,” she reached over and placed her hand over one of mine. “Talk to me.”

I kept my gaze lowered and didn’t reply.

“I thought there was something between us earlier,” she continued. “I thought that perhaps you had feelings for me.”

“I do, I… care about you.”

“I thought it was more than that.” She withdrew her hand. “You’re so protective of me when we’re in town, so kind, always buying a book for me, or picking a flower for me on your way back from the derrick. You respect me and allow me to help you with things that Nora says most men would hate. I… I’m sorry if I misread you, I thought you liked me.”

Now I felt terrible that I’d hurt her.

“But regardless of your feeling for me,” she continued. “You need to stop working so hard. You work almost every hour that God sends, especially when you get upset, as you are now. It wouldn’t kill you buy a book for yourself now and then.”

“I can't.”

“Why?”

“Because… because I’m not the man you think I am, Angel.”

“I’ve seen nothing to make me doubt you,” she answered.

“And you won’t,” I said with certainty, finally looking up and meeting her gaze. “You gave up immortality to give me a second chance and I will not waste it.”

“While I cannot remember my past, I’m fairly certain that I would not want you to work yourself into the ground.”

“I’m not, I’m just not letting opportunities pass me by.”

“But you’re not living, Thomas. Finding oil, I thought it was just a means to an end, so you would have the money to invest in the things you enjoy. Did I misunderstand?”

“You don’t understand.” I looked down to the table.

“Then explain it to me.”

“I’m… I’m no good for you, Angel. You deserve a good man and I’m… I’m a monster.”

Angel was quiet for a few moments before replying, “I don’t think so.”

I looked up, surprised by her answer.

“I think you don’t want to be happy because you think you don’t deserve to be. I think you’re punishing yourself.”

She was right. I told myself it was to protect Angel but the truth was, it came from a masochistic need to pay for my crimes by being miserable.

The working wasn’t just for me though, because I could use the money for good causes. I imagined being a philanthropist; it seemed fitting to me, using my designs for money and that money to help people. “You need to forgive yourself, Thomas.”

“You don’t know what I did.”

“The letter you showed me alluded to a relationship with your sister and that she killed your wives.”

“For money,” I added. “She killed them for money.”

“And you turned a blind eye,” she finished.

“That doesn’t bother you?”

“It sounds like she twisted you from an early age.”

I didn’t answer but I felt my eyes welling with tears. Angel stood up and I expected her to walk out but instead she came around the table and sat beside me, placing one hand on my arm and the other on my back.

“That letter alluded to a lot but there were few specifics. Why don’t you tell me your story?”

I began to cry in earnest and I turned towards her and allowed her to cradle me.

When my tears slowed enough, I began my story, haltingly and out of order, and she listened without interruption.

I told her about my parents, how I was a disappointment to them both. How on one occasion my father strangled me until I passed out, and on another he took me hunting and left me in the forest. He died soon after that and while I thought nothing of it at the time, I later found out that Lucille had poisoned him.

I told her about Teresa, my nurse who, other than Lucille, was the only person who ever really loved me. She disappeared one day, fired, according to Lucille, and I never saw her again.

It was hard to tell her about when Mother caught us _in flagrante delicto_ because I had become careless, and how Lucille killed her because she threatened to separate us.

The guilt over her murdering mother, and her subsequent incarceration, kept me loyal to her for the rest of our lives. It was only now that I could see Lucille’s love was not real. It was possessive and jealous, wanting to lock me up and keep me with her.

It was only very recently that I learned that real love seeks to nurture, to help each party reach their full potential, to grow and flourish. Real love even lets go if it’s in the other person’s best interest.

But I hadn’t ever seen real love before Edith, so I thought that Lucille truly cared for me. It had never entered my mind that even for defying her, she would kill me. Still I could not hate her though.

I was the early hours by the time I finished my story, but the hands had imbibed quite a bit of alcohol and I had told them there was no need to hurry up the next day.

When we finally adjourned to bed I was exhausted and slept like a baby, my head resting on Angel’s breast and her arms around me. I felt at peace for the first time in years.

***

The next morning I awoke far later than usual, I could tell by the sun streaming in the windows. Angel was still with me but we had changed position and were facing each other. She was still sleeping.

I knew I should get up and start the day but I wasn’t ready to leave her yet. She looked at her most angelic when sleeping. Her skin had lost the otherworldly glow she had when I first met her, but she was undeniably ethereal.

She stirred a few minutes later and smiled when she opened her eyes and saw me.

“Morning,” she said, reaching out and taking my hand.

I didn’t know how to reply, I felt rather tongue tied to be honest.

“I hope you don’t mind, I woke up earlier and told the staff to take the day off, so they’ve gone into town.”

How could I mind when it meant more time alone with her.

I still didn’t feel worthy of her but I didn’t have the strength to keep fighting the attraction between us and if she could hear everything and still want to be with me, maybe there was hope for me.

I studied her face as I slowly moved closer, as though trying to commit each and every feature to memory forever more. I don’t know why I moved so slowly, Angel had certainly proved that she was no delicate flower who needed protecting, but I think perhaps I wanted to draw this encounter out for as long as possible.

She responded with enthusiasm and I wanted to make this an experience neither of us would ever forget, as though if I could make it special enough, it might erase the bad memories I had.

It felt like I kissed or caressed every inch of her and after our first time, she insisted on returning the favour. We remained in bed until well gone noon, caressing and exploring each other in between bouts of love making.

When we did rise we bathed together, then I helped her make lunch since her cooking skills had never progressed past rudimentary. Then again, neither had mine. I had to go and check on the well afterwards, just to make sure that my cap was holding, but Angel wanted to come with me, so we walked out there together, then we walked up to the highest peak on our land. She had come with me in the early days, before we hired hands to help, so this was a nice reminder of those days, when it had just been she and I.

We returned to the house when the sun began to fade and shared dinner with the hands.

That night I retrieved the feather she had given me, which I kept tucked in a book, along with the full letter she had given me. She could tell something was going on when I returned and her beautiful face had an interested expression.

“That night when you fell,” I began, “you gave me something to help you remember who you used to be, but you cautioned me not to give it to you unless I was certain that I could love you. You said it would be cruel to remember your feelings if I couldn’t return them.”

I opened the book and removed he downy feather.

“I’ve loved you for a while, but I wasn’t brave enough I admit it until now. If you hold this, you’ll remember that you love me.”

Her expression asked if I was a loon.

“I already love you,” she explained. “I don’t need a feather to do that.”

“Don’t you want to remember who you are?”

“I can’t imagine it will make me any happier than I already am.”

The feeling of being enough for someone was new to me and my eyes stung with tears as I kissed her.

I tucked the feather away again before we became too amorous though, in case she ever changed her mind.

***

**Ten Months Later, 1903**

**Thomas**

We had moved off the land to a far larger house on the edge of town. Our land was now entirely given over to oil production and the refinement facility was nearly finished.

When we found that Angel was with child, we decided to move into town because not only did we need more room for a baby, the accommodation over the stables was full and thus our cabin now house more labourers.

Our new home had four bedrooms, as well as servants quarters, although we only had Nora, but no matter how large the house, there was not a single room where I couldn’t hear Angel’s screams.

I paced the living room, wracked with guilt for having done this to her.

“You’re gonna wear a hole in that rug, Mr Valancourt,” Nora said as she came in to clear away my dinner tray, which I hadn’t touched, aside from the brandy.

“This is all my fault.” I said, dashing a hand through my hair.

“Why don’t you find somethin’ to take your mind off it?” Nora asked.

“What am I supposed to do?” I demanded. “Read a book while she screams blue murder upstairs?”

“Now now, it’s just a baby.”

“A baby that’s ripping her apart from the inside!”

I collapsed to the sofa and buried my head in my hands in despair; I didn’t know how much more of his I could take, and I wasn’t even the one in pain. If I hadn’t imposed my lusts on her, she wouldn’t be screaming like she was being stabbed.I knew that no good would come from being intimate with her, I should have listened to my instincts and not given in to my baser desires. Angel was too pure to be tainted by someone like me.

I should have known better.

“The baby’s breech but Dr Whitehall and the midwife have a lot of experience with babies, she’ll be fine,” Nora tried to reassure me.

Angel screamed again and I looked to the ceiling.

“Why won’t they let me see her?”

“Because the birthin’ room is no place for a man.”

“Dr Whitehall is a man.” I’d stayed with Lucille, because we couldn’t allow a doctor to know that she was pregnant. I wanted to stay with Angel too, and being down here, with no idea what was happening, was driving me crazy.

“Dr Whitehall knows what he’s doing. You’d just be in the way.”

“Is it normal for births to last two days?” I asked.

“Mrs Valancourt’s birth is dangerous, but it ain’t abnormal,” Nora said sadly. “Just be glad you got the money for a doctor. There are many families out there lose both mother and child because they don’t got the money to pay for a professional.”

That sounded barbaric.

Suddenly a new scream pierced the air, one clearly from a baby. I rushed for the stairs and burst into the bedroom, to see Angel in bed, sweat soaked and tired, and the baby being held by the nurse while Whitehall clamped the cord.

“Mr Valencourt, you can't be in here,” the midwife old me.

“Like hell I can't! This is my room, in my house, and _that_ is _my_ wife!”

I climbed onto the opposite side of the bed and took her hand. Angel smiled tiredly at me, and that alone was enough to keep me here.

“She still has to birth the placenta,” The midwife argued.

“And I have no intention of stopping that, I just want to be with her.”

With much huffing and puffing, they eventually let me stay.

“I’m so sorry, Angel,” I said with tears in my eyes.

“Why?”

“Didn’t you hear what you just went through?”

The midwife interrupted us, passing Angel the baby, who had been quickly washed and wrapped up,

Angel took the small bundle but didn’t keep it in her arms, instead she took me by surprise by passing it straight to me. I made some surprised noised but managed to cradle it and not drop it.

“It’s a girl,” Angel said, her features glowing despite her lethargy. “Say hello to your daughter.”

I looked down into her perfect features, big blue eyes gazing about in wonder as she smacked her lips together.

I looked to the doctor.

“And is she… is she healhy?”

“Your wife and baby are both perfectly healthy, Mr Valencourt.”

The relief I felt was massive and I felt a tear escape. Angel snuggled into me so that she could see the baby too and I put my arm around her.

“She’s worth it,” Angel said.

I pressed a kiss to her forehead, squeezing her tightly.

***

**Seven Years Later, 1910**

**The Globe News**

_The Tycoon With A Heart_

_Yesterday Thomas Valencourt, owner of Angel Oil Co. opened his newest venture, a free hospital in his home town. The hospital, called Angel’s Rest, will open its doors to anyone who needs medical attention and is unable to afford a doctor, and is built in the grounds of his orphanage, Angel’s Heart, which also hosts the town’s first public library, also funded by Valencourt._

_Known as much for his improvements to the oil drilling and kerosene refining processes, as he is for his oil business, the inventor is quickly building a second reputation for philanthropy._

_Attending the opening with his wife, Emily, and their two children, Anna and Michael, he singled his wife out in his speech for her help and support. Indeed his wife seems as, if not more important to him that his business, and both his companies and his charitable endeavours are named Angel in honour of her, it’s term of endearment he has called her since the day they met, indeed Mrs Valencourt says she can count on one hand the number of times her husband has called her Emily._

_The Valencourts have big plans, they explain to me back at their palatial home. As well as expanding their business empire, they want to start a network of children’s homes and free hospitals, and are planning to staff their hospitals by putting poor but intelligent young men through medical school. In exchange the men (or women, Emily adds) would sign a contract to work in the Angel’s Rest hospitals for a set period after graduation._

_They say that their dream is for every state to have a least one of their orphanages and free hospitals by the time their children take the company over. Not that they plan to retire, “but cut back,” Emily insists when Valencourt says that he has too much left to do to ever stop working. They share an affectionate look that speaks volumes to each other, but is evidently in a language I don’t understand._

_We are disturbed then by their children, but far from chastising them for the interruption, the boy and girl were greeted with affection before being sent back to their nanny, with promises that if they are well behaved for the rest of the day, they can have a cookie after their dinner._

_Thomas Valencourt’s attachment to his family can be seen in many ways though, such as the fact that his wife is an equal partner in his business, or that he built this house on the same parcel of land as he erected his business headquarters, so that he doesn’t waste time commuting that could be better spent with his family._

_It’s notable ha his good deeds are not just limited to charitable endeavours. His desire to repay his good luck extends to his businesses; employees of Angel Oil receive on average 25% more than the industry standard, he provides affordable housing for 70% of his employees, and his oil fields have the best safety record across the industry, thanks at least in part to his improvements to the machinery typically used._

_Yet despite all his good works, he remains remarkably self­deprecating, insisting that he is simply following the examples of people such as Charles Pratt and Milton Hershey. He won’t take credit for his successes either, saying that he owes everything to Emily “my own personal Angel” and that without her, he would be nothing._

_Immigrants from England, the Valencorts moved here in 1901, settling first in..._

***

**Twenty Three Years Later, 1933**

**Angel**

“Darling, come to bed,” I said as I entered the study.

Waking up in the middle of the night to find myself alone was becoming a common occurrence.

“Soon, Angel, I just want to get this finished.”

I came up behind him and wrapped my arms around his shoulders.

“When Anna and Michael started working for the company, I thought you would have more time, not less.”

“I know, darling, but the plans for this hospital won’t finalise themselves.”

I took the pen from his hand and set it aside, then turned his chair to face me and knelt down.

“Are you ever going to forgive yourself?” I asked.

Thomas dropped his gaze in shame.

“It’s not a question of guilt, it’s about doing good.”

“I know it is, and I know we’re wealthy enough to pay people to do these things. You do them because you’re trying to atone.”

“Is there something wrong with that?”

I cupped his cheeks and lifted his head so he had to look at me.

My tall dark stranger was going grey around the temples now, his face older and weathered, as was my own, but his laugh lines showed that we mostly had a happy life.

Ever since he had begun cutting back on work though, allowing our oldest children to cut their teeth in the business, he had been a little lost.

I had hoped that we might travel more, see something of the world and other cultures, but unable to reconcile with his past, Thomas was doing his damnedest to forget it all together, and working himself into the ground in the process.

“I think you need to go home.”

“We are home,” he said, confused.

“No, home to England, darling. You need to come to terms with your past, and that clearly isn’t happening here.”

“NO!” he reared away and out of his seat, then began pacing the length of his study. “There is nothing on God’s green earth that would make me return to that country, and especially that house! How could you even ask it?”

“Because you need to forgive yourself, and the only way I can think for you to do that, is to go back.”

“That house was like a prison, full of nothing but pain, death and a love so twisted it killed me, and others.”

“Is that why you really don’t want to go back, because you still love Lucille?”

He gave me a withering look so while I wasn’t quite right, I knew I was on the right track.

“You don’t still love Lucille, but…” I said slowly, trying to work through his feelings. “But you feel responsible. She’s still there, trapped in that house, while you escaped.”

He turned his back to me, trying to hide his emotions.

“My love, can you not see that to Lucille, being in that house is not a prison? From everything you have told me, she loved your family home and wanted to stay there forever. If anything, her dream has come true.”

“She didn’t want to live there alone,” he replied softly.

“First of all, she killed you, how would she expect your relationship to survive something like that? Secondly, you didn’t kill her. She died trying to murder someone, another someone, so she brought her fate on herself.”

“And what of the other spirits trapped there? I know they never left because Edith could see them.”

“But their afterlife isn’t your problem.”

“It is if I killed them.”

“At worst you didn’t prevent their deaths; you have never actually murdered anyone, Thomas, I believe you are incapable if it.”

“That is a distinction that only you recognise, Angel, the law, and the women themselves, probably feel very differently.”

I knew I wasn’t going to win this argument, but a new idea had occurred to me. It might take me a while to work out the details, but for now I simply had to get Thomas to take better care of himself, he wasn’t a young man any more.

“Come to bed, please.”

***

**Nine Months Later, 1934**

**Thomas**

“Thomas, darling,” Angel said as we sat at the breakfast table.

“Hmm?” I had one eye on my plate and the other on the newspaper.

“You know I’ve been writing to one of my favourite authors recently?”

She’d been conversing with them for months, if memory served. It wasn’t unusual for her, she was a sociable person and often wrote to total strangers, either to tell them she admired them, or to ask for their help with our charitable ventures.

“Yes?”

“Well there’s something I should have told you. The author I’ve been writing to is Edith Cushing.”

I looked up, shocked. Of course I knew she read Edith’s books, albeit discreetly. Truth be told, I read them too, hoping to glean some information, anything to tell me that she was happy.

Crimson Peak had been a bestseller and although she sold it as a fictionalised version of a true story, explaining that the ghosts were manifestations of her emotions, it was in fact a completely faithful account.

I hadn’t believed that she could see ghosts, until she saw me.

“Why?” I demanded of Angel.

“I have been trying to earn her trust, hoping that I could get her to talk to me about the events at Allerdale Hall.”

“Why?” was still the only question I could think to ask.

“Because I wanted to know how she felt about you.”

I didn’t ask he same question a third time, but my expression must have told her.

“I thought that if Edith could forgive you, then perhaps you could forgive yourself. It took many months of writing to convince her that I believed in her ghost stories. I told her that I can see Angels.”

“Can you?” I had never thought to ask before.

“I glimpse them, even to this day, but they don’t want to be seen. Anyway, she began to open up to me, telling me more and more about herself, her life and her marriage.”

“She never remarried?”

“No, she didn’t want to. She and Dr McMichael are still good friends, but he married and had a family, but she preferred to have a career and her freedom.

“Two letters back I asked if she held any resentment towards you, and she told me that she didn’t. In my last letter I asked her how she could possibly forgive you. Would you like to hear her answer?”

I nodded, my mouth suddenly as dry as the Sahara.

She looked down to the letter she held and skimmed the contents until she found what she was looking for.

_“After the events at Allerdale Hall, there was an inquest into not only Thomas and Lucille’s deaths, but the wives as well. The police combed through every inch of that house, searching for clues and possible motives. What they found instead was tragedy._

_“Their mother, Beatrice, kept a diary, and it detailed her marriage, her brutal husband, and indeed her own brutality, although she could not see it as such. Neither child had any love from their parents, and the only adult who loved them was a nurse who was fired for loving them too much. After that, Thomas and Lucille had no one but each other. Lucille adored her brother and did her best to shield him from their parents, taking beatings that would have been his. Still Thomas was nearly killed twice, once through neglect, and once through anger. Their father died soon after the second time, but that only made things worse. With no income, Beatrice dismissed almost all the staff, and her bitterness grew, making her even more cruel._

_“Thomas was just 12 when Beatrice found him in bed with his sister. He probably couldn’t have known it was wrong at that age, the family was rather insular and so although she was two years older, I doubt Lucille knew either. Their mother punished them both and threatened to separate them, but Thomas was all Lucille had and she would not give him up, so she killed their mother while she bathed._

_“Knowing all this, I don’t find it hard to understand why they both grew up as they did. Lucille had evil beaten into her by their parents and because of everything she did and had endured for him, Thomas had the kind of loyalty to Lucille which had him overlooking even murder._

_“Had I lived such a wretched life, I cannot say I would have fared any better. What makes me able to forgive Thomas though, is that he never let Lucille’s_ _sickness_ _consume him entirely, and he died doing the right thing in the end. I would not be a very good person if I could not forgive someone who so thoroughly repented. I even forgave Lucille once I learned of her past, and I remind myself that I only know what her mother wrote down, which is almost certainly not the whole story._

_“I still think about Thomas, and I wonder how much of his pretty words were truth and now much a lie, but when someone dies protecting me, I can hardly doubt his love._

_“A part of me wishes that Thomas had survived that fateful day, he saved both Alan and I, and deserved a second chance. He would not have got one though, for the law doesn’t recognise repentance. When I went back to the house however, only Lucille remained. Thomas and the others, must have passed on and although I don’t know where they went, I suppose it is freedom of a sort, and I am glad he is finally free.”_

My eyes were closed by the time she finished, tears leaking from beneath my eyelids.

The relief I felt was overwhelming, not just because Edith forgave me, although that meant an awful lot, but also because those poor women, my wives, were free also. That thought pleased me, not just because they deserved peace, but also because it meant that Lucille was protected from their wrath.

I admit that the idea of her staying in the house with her victims troubled me. I knew Lucille deserved their fury, but I didn’t want her to be unhappy, not for eternity. If she remained in the house now, I could only assume it was because she wanted to be there, and it was where she had always been happiest.

Angel came around the table and held me until I regained control of my emotions and although I wouldn’t have believed it possible, I felt lighter, as if a weight had been lifted from my shoulders. I would not have believed that forgiveness could mean so much to me.

***

**Epilogue**

**27 years later, 1961**

**Angel**

He stayed with me, even although everyone warned him that it would be dangerous if he caught my flu.

I passed with him sitting beside me, reading Hound of the Baskervilles to me. He knows I have a weakness for mysteries.

Although he didn’t know it, I stayed with him while he laid me to rest, holding his hand, hoping that even if he couldn’t feel it, he knew I was there.

Attending my funeral was actually the saddest part of dying, because of all the people that I would never be able to interact with again.

Thomas was in his 90s now and I knew he would be joining me soon, that was why I was waiting around, but our children? It broke my heart to see them crying. They were grown, married and had children and grandchildren of their own now, but I was still their mother.

The children from the orphanage also held a special place in my heart. We had a network of such homes across the country but Thomas and I had overseen the local one ourselves, because giving money wasn’t enough. Some of their stories were enough to break your heart, but as well as educating them and trying to find them gainful employment, we cared for each and every child that came to us.

Some of the first orphans we took in were here, they were old men and women themselves now but I loved them no less.

We had achieved quite a bit of fame for our philanthropy during our lifetime, but we were notoriously camera shy. It didn’t matter so much these days, age had vastly changed us and no one would recognise Thomas for the man he used to be, but old habits die hard.

Thomas looked like a broken man and although he put a brave face on his pain for our children, I could tell. The only reason my own heart didn’t break was that I could see death was near for him. Evidently dying returned not only my memories of being an angel, but also some of the gifts I used to have. I didn’t have powers or wings, they had gone for good, but I could see how much life someone had left.

Thomas had only weeks to live.

When he came down with my flu later that day, he had only days. The hospital could do nothing for him so he was cared for a home, his doctor coming in twice a day and although a nurse was hired to look after him, the children arranged shifts so there was always a family member there too.

I stayed with him, just as he had for me, and sometimes in his delirium he spoke to me. I answered. I couldn’t physically talk but I answered, and sometimes I even think he could understand me.

He passed away peacefully, just as I had, when he fell into an exhausted sleep and his body finally gave out.

He wasn’t confused his time and he smiled when he saw me.

‘ _You waited._ ’

‘ _I wasn’t about to go anywhere without you, my love._ ’

We embraced, as much as spirits can, and watched, both feeling upset, as the nurse told Emmett and Clara that their father had passed. They were expecting it but the news still came as a shock.

The other children, grandchildren and their spouses came as soon as they heard and we watched as they comforted each other. There were a lot of tears but also a lot of laughter as they remembered the good times.

‘ _What happens now_?’ Thomas asked.

‘ _When we’re ready, we’ll pass over_ ,’ I explained.

‘ _Where_?’

‘ _I remember being an Angel, but even we didn’t know what the afterlife was_.’

‘ _Do you think… Am I going to hell_?’

‘ _No, you’ve done so much good in your life. I don’t even think there is such a place, and even if they tried, I would tear heaven and earth apart looking for you_.’

He smiled at me. ‘ _And now you remember everything, no regrets_?’

‘ _Oh, my love, you not only lived up to my expectations, you exceeded them_.’

 


End file.
